


All The King's Horses

by Alternatewarning



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Prophecy (Final Fantasy XV), Blood and Gore, Branding, Burned at the stake, Character Death, Fantastic Racism, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Poisoning, Racism, Rating May Change, This is only going to get darker as it continues, Torture, extreme violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:07:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26758495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alternatewarning/pseuds/Alternatewarning
Summary: There were rumors in the Kingdom of Lucis that the crown prince Noctis would be too weak to be a king.  He leaned too heavily on his retainers, on his friends.  There was only one way to cure a weak prince, take away his support, one life at a time.Whumptober 2020 entry: Numbers 2, 4, 14, 19, 22 and 25 (Across all 3 chapters) - Falling (alternate prompt), Collapsed Building, Branding, Fire, Grief, Mourning Loved One, Poison, and Disorientation
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia/Prompto Argentum, Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 3
Kudos: 51
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Noctis expected his meeting to be boring, but little did he he know that he would soon be falling into a plot to take him down piece by piece.
> 
> Whumptober 2020 entry: Numbers 2 and 4 - Falling (alternate prompt) and Collapsed Building.

“Why do I have to meet them here in person again?” The crown prince yawned as he slumped against the side of the elevator. He looked like anything but a picture of royal dignity: by the fluffy mess that was his hair, it was obvious that he had rolled himself out of bed at the last minute. His shirt was buttoned but untucked in the front, his tie was just crooked enough to be noticeable, and he looked ready to take a nap in what Gladio would have to kindly refer to as the most unsteady elevator he had even stepped inside. The inside was lined with a few sheets of silver tarp that seemed to be taped to the walls which gave it a distinctly unsafe vibe, as if they wanted to make the clean up easier if the elevator crashed to the ground.

“Because your dad is busy being the king. Now at least try to make a good impression or Iggy’s going to ground both of us.” The shield let out a heavy sigh as the elevator continued to work its way up the unfinished building. The contractors wanted to go over the plans again and, since this building was being built under the king’s orders, they wanted him to take a look at it. But Regis was busy in diplomatic meetings all day which meant the task fell to Noctis. Normally Ignis would be the one going with him but since he was in the same abysmally long meeting, Gladio had offered to take his place. What he hadn’t known, at the time, was that ‘take the prince to the meeting’ also translated to getting him out of bed on time, getting him dressed appropriately, getting him awake (which was distinctly different from ‘out of bed’) as well as the actual task of accompanying him to the location.

“Why couldn’t they just do this tomorrow? When Ignis could do it.” Noctis muttered to himself as he stood up straight and stretched, trying to at least appear a little more aware than he felt. Seven am was a good five hours too early for a meeting. Especially on a Saturday.

“So I’m just supposed to make sure that their blueprints match what Dad wanted, right?”

“You’re asking me? I’m just the babysitter.”

“Iggy always knows…” The black-haired prince moped quietly as the doors to the elevator slowly opened. The floor they were stopped at was very clearly unfinished but there was a table with what looked like papers a few yards in. This was the floor that they had been told to meet at so the prince straightened himself out before walking out of the elevator with a confidence and stride that almost looked like a completely different man. Gladio followed behind, a small bud of pride blooming in his chest as the kid was actually starting to act like a royal.

“This is the place, right? Floor fifteen?” Aside from the fold out table and two folding chairs, the floor seemed empty. There were concrete pillars holding the incomplete building together and a wooden slatted bench under their feet. A few silver tarps were sitting folded in plain view, each weighted down in a small pile of red-orange bricks. Everything looked empty, almost abandoned. There were no tools or buckets of supplies as there had been on the ground floor. Gldaio had a sneaking suspicion that this meeting was not going to be as boring and pointless as they both had thought.

Noctis walked over to the table, peering at the contents laid out. At first he thought it would be blueprints and notes, maybe some small tools. But now that he was closer he could tell that something didn’t line up. There was paper on the folding table but it wasn’t a blueprint, instead it was just a collage of newspaper articles. All of them had been ripped or cut out of the newspaper they belonged to and they seemed to be from multiple different sources; the prince recognized at least two different papers just by the way the articles were laid out. Each article was stuck to the table by a long needle that looked much too large for sewing.

“Um Gladio. I think we should leave.” Despite the words out of his mouth, the crown prince didn’t move. Instead his blue eyes were locked on the articles haphazardly stuck to the table. There didn’t seem to be any common thread at first glance, the topics covered everything from his eighteenth birthday celebration to the opening of a new restaurant to local gossip. The articles didn’t share the same author and they seemed to be from the last few years, but no rhyme or reason as to when. But then he looked just a little bit harder, with just a little bit more focus. There had to be something that someone wanted him to see.

As Noctis continued to stare down at the black and white puzzle in front of him, Gladio moved up next to him. There was something off in the air, an aura that he didn’t like. It felt almost dangerous even if there didn’t seem to be any monster, human, or even living thing in sight.

“All these pictures…” Noctis sucked in a breath, shock setting into his voice. “All of them have one of us. No, one of you guys.” He motioned to the table with a wave of his arm, blue eyes wide with a bubbling panic. Every single newspaper piece had a picture embedded with the article and every single picture contained one of his retainers or his friend. They weren’t always the focus of the image, but they were there. One picture was taken during the yearly flower festival and the picture was a large crowd, but upon closer inspection Prompto was squatting down in the corner, taking a picture of his own. Another one was him and his father but Ignis and Gladio were standing in the back, watching him. 

“We need to leave, now.” Gladio spoke with a deep rumble, like a thunderstorm gathering on the horizon. Without asking permission he grabbed the prince’s arm and pulled, thrusting them both towards the elevator. Only a few steps away from their goal, the room shook with a sickening snap, followed by a short moment of weightlessness. The wooden slats below their feet suddenly gave way, letting the floor open like the maw of a behemoth, teeth and all.

Instinct took over and Gladio twisted as they fell, pulling the prince against his chest as he covered him with his arms as best he could. Not a second later his back collided with the floor below them, their combined weight, along with the falling debris from what had been the fifteenth floor, causing the new ground to tear apart and collapse. This repeated a few more times and Gladio just held tighter, praying to the Six that his body would be enough to protect Noctis from getting stabbed by falling metal shrapnel or crushed under bricks. Eventually the duo landed with bone-splintering thud and a groan from Gladio. His arm was twisted unnaturally from the landing, but they were alive.

Body-sized support bars and planks of wood were still raining down on them in a dangerous fashion but this floor seemed to be holding a little more steady. Noctis rolled to his right, freeing his shield’s broken arm and giving him enough purchase to check on his friend. By the groaning he knew that the other was alive but it was clear that his shoulder had been crushed by the fall.

“Gladio, don’t move! I think the floor’s sagging under…” The prince’s voice suddenly raised in pitch as he watched the scene in front of him. He felt frozen, locked in place as the worst played out one flash at a time. One of the concrete support beams that had been holding up the, clearly unsteady, upper floors cracked with a nauseating screech of stone and metal. It tipped towards the prince and his bodyguard, bringing the remnants of the ceiling with it. A race against time, Noctis reached out and tried to grab Gladio, his arm, his shirt, anything to pull him out of the path of the collapsing support. But he was too slow.

The concrete pillar crashed through the floor like butter, catching Gladio’s body and dragging him down as easily as a broom pushed aside a knot of dust. The entire left side of the floor followed suit, collapsing into a heap of debris and dust that just kept falling, floor after floor.

“Gladio!” He scrambled to the edge, holding on to the splintered edge of the floor and perring down into the ruins below. The only portion of the structure that was still standing started to wobble, like a tower of cards only breath away from collapse. Only two supports reminded because of the way the building had split, leaving Noctis stranded unless he was brave enough to warp. But none of the remaining structures seemed solid enough to support his weight, none the less the sudden application of force it would take for him to get there.

“Gadio! Can you hear me?” As the dust started to settle he called down again. From the looks of it he was about six floors up, enough that it would be dangerous for him to even attempt to jump down. The only sound that wafted up from below was debris settling. The prince tried to grab his phone to call for help, only to find it smashed in his pocket. Of course. Then again, if it had survived an eleven floor fall, he would have been impressed.

“Someone, anyone, help! There’s someone stuck in the rubble!” He screamed out for help as loud as his lungs would allow. Still, nothing. It was too early for the streets to be filled with people going about their day, but still, someone had to have heard the building collapse in on itself. Why was no one coming to check it out? Just as Noctis was readying himself to find a less-deadly place to warp to, and pray to the Six that his weight wouldn’t cause another collapse, he heard a familiar voice.

“Noct! Noct! Oh no, Noct!”  
“Prompto?!” The prince wasn’t sure if he was more relieved or shocked to look over the edge of the teetering structure to see a shock of blond hair below. His body reacted automatically, sinking into that familiar magic to suddenly appear next to his friend in a flash of blue.

“Noct, what the heck?! What’s going on?!” Prompto threw out his arms and wrapped them around his friend’s neck, hugging Noctis just a little too tight. “When you texted me this it was an emergency you weren’t kidding! Are-you-okay-was-anyone-with-you?” His voice grew more and more panicked until all of the words started to blur together into one screeched emotion. Nocits wanted to ask about the text, since his phone was in about thirty pieces but they didn’t have time for that. He expertly wiggled out of the photographer’s hug, grabbing Prompto’s shoulders to get him to focus.

“I don’t have time to explain, but Gladio’s still in the rubble. We have to look for him. He, he fell…” The prince didn’t even have to finish before his friend was diving into the dust and destruction, screaming the shield’s name at the top of his lungs. The two of them dug into the mess of concrete and metal, doing their best to dislodge pieces of building that were larger than the two of them combined. They continued to dig and scream, looking for any sign on their friend. But as the sun rose higher in the sky, their hopes started to plummet.

“Gladio! Come on big guy you gotta be alr---ahhh!” Prompto pulled free the crumpled, twisted remains of a support bar before letting out a wail filled with both fear and agony. Noctis warped to his side but immediately wished he hadn’t. Bile rose in his throat at the sight before him and he had to turn to his side to throw up as the sight in front of him burned itself into his brain.

Gladio’s body lay beneath them, covered in rocks and ruins of what had been a seventeen story building. His back was twisted and broken as if the hands of the gods had taken him and turned his torso one way and his legs another. His entire body was pale with brown dust, his chest and face shimmering with wet blood. The support beam in Prompto’s arms was stained crimson on one end, the end that had crushed in the shield head until it was barely reminiscent of a human form. His skull was caved in, blood and brain leaking out onto the pavement below like a thick soup.

Prompto let the bar fall to the ground, his body sluggish as if his veins were filled with ice. Slowly he placed his hands on the dead man’s chest, his body trembling. He traced the blood stains up his chest and neck, fingertips moving to rest on what remained of the shield’s face. The side of his head took the brunt of the damage so when the blond placed his hands across his cheeks, most of his fingers were touching skin and not crushed bone and blood.

“Gladio…? Big guy, come on. You gotta get up.” Prompto’s voice was quiet, laced with a painful longing. 

“Noct and I have been looking for you for hours, it feels like. You gotta get up and help us outta here. You...come on Gladio. Come on, get up.” Noctis felt his throat close up as he listened to his best friend beg a corpse to stand. His voice was quivering, half garbed sobs swallowing words whole.

“Let's go home. Please? Hey you, you told me back in high school that if I ever felt scared going home you’d walk me home, right? Y-you remember that, right? Well I’m scared now. So you have to get up, you have to walk me home. Gladio please…” Prompto’s entire body started to shake as he leaned forward, placing his forehead against the man on the ground. His words faded into pained wails and sobs, the emotion coming from so deep in his chest that Noctis felt like the grief was being painted on his soul.

By the time emergency responders arrived the prince felt completely numb. It wasn’t until he felt his face being pressed into someone’s chest and arms holding him tightly that he came back to the present. His blue eyes blinked, slowly taking in everything around him. An ambulance had arrived and there were paramedics slowly prying Prompto from where he had attached himself to the front of Gladio’s chest. By now he was no longer crying or howling, instead he looked pale and empty, as if his soul had been sucked out of his body, leaving only a frozen shell.

“Noct…” Normally Ignis’s voice was soothing, deep and steady and accented. But now it seemed to break the spell that had been holding everything inside. The prince turned and clung to his advisor’s chest, quietly weeping against his shoulder as the man held him tightly. He cried for the loss of his Shield and one of his oldest friends. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to mourn the loss of his best friend as well.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone handles grief differently. As he, Noctis, and Ignis recover from the shock of Gladio's death, Prompto leaves to spend some time alone. However, some citizens of Insomnia are none-too-friendly to outsiders.
> 
> Whumptober 2020 entry: Numbers 14 and 19 - Branding, Fire, Grief, Mourning Loved One

Prompto and Noctis were both released from the hospital with nothing more than scrapes and bruises. However, the doctors could do nothing for broken hearts. Ignis had taken them both back to Noctis’s apartment in an oppressive silence; Noctis in the back, watching his breath appear on the glass of the window, Prompto in the front, unfocused eyes letting the city lights dance across his freckles. The empty seat in the back felt heavy on all of them, a painful reminder of what once had been.

For the next few days, Ignis did his best to care for the bleeding hearts, at the very least taking care of their bodies. While he had seen Noctis morose more times that he wanted to admit, seeing Prompto curled up on the side of the couch, his eyes rimmed red from crying was a spear to the heart. He looked like a pale doll, broken and soulless, nothing more than a fading phantom.

“It’s getting late, I think I’m gonna go home.” Noctis looked up from where he had been watching the television with a dazed expression as Prompto spoke. It was the first time since that night that his voice didn’t carry a sob.

“You don’t have to! Stay here.” The prince shifted on the couch as he spoke, getting onto his knees as he reached out to wrap his hand into the fabric of the blanket Ignis had thrown over Prompto a few hours prior.

“I know I can stay. But I kind of want some time alone. Don’t worry.” Prompto smiled even though the pain was still clear across his face. “If I get lonely or something I’ll call for Iggy to pick me up. I’ll see you tomorrow though?”

“Ya, sure, I guess.” The young prince sighed, slowly letting go of the blanket as the blond untangled himself. There was a little more of his spirit than there had been before, a little more sunshine seeping through.

“Would you like me to drop you off at home?” Ignis walked toward the front of the apartment, reaching out for the car keys hanging from a hook to the right of the apartment door.

“Ah, no it’s okay. I want to walk. It’s not too chilly outside so I’ll be fine, really. I just gotta think, ya know?” He patted Ignis on the shoulder with a bit of a skip in his step as he grabbed his bag from beside the door and let himself out. Tension hung heavy in the air as Noctis stared at the now-closed door.

“Everyone mourns in different ways, Noct.” Ignis spoke quietly, as if his voice would shatter something. He locked the apartment door before coming over and sitting in the empty chair across the living room. Prompto’s empty seat felt almost sacred, for now.

“We were almost always together, I’m sure the two of us are just a reminder. Give him some time. Prompto feels everything very deeply.” Noctis huffed in response, which was as good of an affirmative as Ignis was going to get. It was clear that the prince was a rage of emotions right now: fear, hurt, grieving, and loneliness. He had lost not just a bodyguard, but an older brother of sorts, a friend. Ignis had tried to get him to talk about it but so far all he’d gotten were bouts of silence or tearful ‘I don’t want to talk about it’s.

“Fine. I’m going to bed. Don’t wake me up in the morning.” The retainer just nodded in silence, watching the boy go into his bedroom, a blanket trailing behind him. More than anything Ignis wanted to hold him close, tell him it would be okay, heal his wounds. But he knew better than to lie.

* * *

It was a little colder outside than Prompto anticipated, but he didn’t mind. The chill of the wind against his face reminded him that he was still alive even if he didn’t feel that way. He didn’t really want to walk home just yet because he knew the house would be empty and lonely and he had enough loneliness to last him for the next few weeks. Instead he just started to walk in any direction, letting his feet carry him through the streets of Insomnia.

As he walked, he pulled his camera from his bag, almost on instinct. The thought of looking through pictures from before made his stomach tie itself in knots and lodge in his throat. But at the same time, he ached to force the memory out of his head, the memory that kept replaying over and over like a broken record unable to skip past the chorus. Every time he closed his eyes, all he saw was that, was Gladio’s broken body shattered on the ground. The blood and the pieces of brain and skull pooling out. The memory made him want to vomit but he just locked his jaw, refusing to give in.

He needed to wash the bitter aftertaste out of his brain. The blond wandered until he found a bench and sat down, dropping his bag at his feet. As much as it would hurt, and he knew it would, he needed something, anything to remember. To remember the man who saw him, who was kind to him even if he had no reason to be. Prompto was nothing, just a pathetic commoner who was more of a mess than any of his friends. And while Noct was his best friend, one of his only friends, Gladio was different. If Noctis was his prince charming, then Gladio was his knight in shining armor. And he had always had a thing for knights.

The camera clicked on with a mechanical clack, the screen lighting to life. In the setting sun, the glare from the display hurt his eyes so he blinked a few times, waiting for them to adjust. Slowly, his thumb tapped over the backwards arrow, pulling up the last picture he took. It was from only a few days ago and yet it felt like a century. The four of them had been visiting a new little cafe that had just opened and the giant coeurl stature in the front had just looked so regal. The first picture was just the statue, the white cat looking up into the cloudless sky. But the very next one was Gladio pretending to punch the statue in the face. Prompto couldn’t help but giggle at the sight, even as his eyes filled with tears.

He continued to cycle through his pictures, stopping on any of them with the Shield. He was always so big, so strong. He looked like nothing would ever stop him. Nothing could stop him. Until it did.

“Hey! Blondie! This ain't your turf, go home!” Prompto wasn’t intentionally ignoring the voices, he was just too wrapped up in his memories to notice the insults. His blue eyes blinked, confused, as a small rock hit him in the face. There was a group of six people standing a few feet away. Everything about them screamed that they were the ‘wrong crowd’ that everyone was told to avoid a child. The one in front picked up another rock and threw it, causing Prompto to yelp as it smacked him in the head.

“Hey, hey! Okay, okay I’m going, jeeze.” He wasn’t sure what ‘turf’ he’d stepped into but clearly he wasn’t wanted. He grabbed his bag from the floor, setting it on the bench so he could safely pack away his camera. It was all he had left, after all.

“We don’t want you Nifs here!” The blond froze mid-motion, as if he was trapped in time. How?! No one, and he meant no one, should have known that he was from Niflheim. His throat felt dry and his bones frozen but he forced himself to keep putting his stuff away. He stood up stiffly, as if he was a puppet with knotted strings.

“Look I don’t want to get into a fight with you. I’m just going to be on my way, okay?” He held up his hands in front of his body, a show of surrender. Slowly Prompto started to back away from the angry pack as the hairs on the back of his neck started to rise. They were watching him but more than that, they were moving towards him.

“You’re the little blond who’s always swooning over the prince, aren’t you?” The man who had thrown the rocks seemed to be the group’s leader as they all followed behind him like a pack of wild dogs.

“Excuse me, I was not swooning. We’re friends, that’s all.” The photographer huffed with a little more indignation than he should have. It only seemed to anger them more.

“So what are you, a spy? An assassin? Doesn’t matter, we won’t take this lying down. Go back home, Nif!” He threw another rock, larger this time, and Prompto just managed to stumble out of the way. Gladio’s training was coming in handy, even if he was still a little too startled to really put it to good use.

“Look, I’m going! To my house, here in Insomnia, where I live!” He turned on his heel, intending to book it down the path and into a more populated area. But just as he started to run he realized that his backpack wasn’t on his back. It was still on the bench. Normally he would just leave it and run, but that backpack had his camera. And that camera had his last pictures of Gladio. He couldn’t let it go.

The gunman bit down on his lip as he suddenly swerved, running back towards his abandoned bag. He should have just left it, just run, just escaped. But he couldn’t. Those pictures, those memories, he needed them. He couldn’t let go of the few things that he had left. Just as he reached the bag, the mob reached him. He didn’t even have time to register exactly what was happening before he was thrown to the ground with enough force to knock the wind out of him and knock the bag from his hands.

“You don’t belong here!”  
“No one wants you here!”  
“Fucking scum!”

The words started to blend together as all six of them started to yell and scream. Prompto just curled as tight as he could, protecting his face with his arms and his neck with his hands. Just like Gladio had shown him. Eventually they would get tired of punching him, kicking him, spitting on him, and they would just go away. He wasn’t sure what the Empire did this time to build up such a rage but right now he didn’t care. He just wanted to live through this and go home. Or maybe back to Noct’s house. It would hurt to be with them again but at least it was safe.

One of the group, Prompto had squeezed his eyes shut so he didn’t know which one, had grabbed his hair and was starting to pull. But not just the ‘pulling on his hair because it hurt’ way but the ‘dragging by the hair’ sort of way. Even as he was being unceremoniously dragged through the street by a small mob they kept attacking him, a boot to his face so hard his lip was bleeding, a kick to his gut that made a sickening crack.

“Let me go! I didn’t do anything wrong! Noct’s my friend, I’d never do anything to hurt him, please! Please someone help, help!” Now it was clear they were not going to just ‘move on’. This wasn’t the type of anger where people got in a few good hits, felt like they had the last laugh and then just left. This was the type of anger that had been burning for years and years and wasn’t going to be put out by a young man screaming for mercy.

Prompto kicked and wiggled, trying to pull free of the white-knucked grasp of his hair. His back was starting to burn from being dragged across the cement, a hole already torn open in his shirt. He grabbed the arms holding his hair and tried to claw and pull, anything to get away.

“Don’t do this, please don’t kill me! Really we’re just friends, we went to school together! You can ask him! I’m not a spy, I grew up in Luc-” He didn’t finish his plea as one of the group shoved some sort of cloth in his mouth. He shoved it in so deep that Prompto started to gag, now focused on freeing his throat over escape. Once the gunman pulled out the rag the grasp on his hair dropped, letting his body thud into the harsh gravel. He knew it was his only time to escape.

The blond relied on all the training that Gladio had given to him. He rolled onto his side, keeping low to the ground, and tried to launch into the space between two of the attackers. It worked and he burst free of their circle. For a short moment he felt freedom, the panic pushing his legs to run even as the skin on his left leg was torn open from cement and gravel. In a flash his freedom was taken away with the clang of metal and a shock of pain in the back of his head before his body fell to the ground with as much force as he had used to try and escape. The leader now stood over him, a metal pipe in his hand.

“You’ve killed so many, broken up families, made us hide away behind the Wall. Now it's your turn to be afraid.” Prompto wanted to say something back, to tell him he had it all wrong, but instead everything just faded to black.

The sensation that forced Prompto awake was nothing but pain. A searing, burning pain that tore a scream from his throat even before his consciousness had fully kicked back into gear. His blue eyes snapped open as he tried to twist, pull away, kick, fight, anything. But every twitch, every turn, resulted in nothing. His senses kicked back into gear all at once in a moment of panic. He couldn’t pull away because he couldn’t move, his hands were tied behind hid back so tightly that he couldn’t really feel his fingers. But they weren’t just behind his back, something, a pole or a plank or something, was digging into his shoulder blades and his arms were trapped behind him, the structure in between. His feet were also tied in place with the same sturdy cord, wrapping him to the rod with so little movement that he was sure his feet were going to lose circulation, and soon.

“What are you doing, let me go! Please!” Now acutely aware of how dangerous a situation he was in, his mind was just starting to catch up. He wasn’t in the same place that he had been when he’d been knocked out, now he was surrounded by dirt, sand and ruin. Outside the Wall--there was a small flame flickering in front of him, but not from a magical haven. Just a mound of sticks and dried grass. Something was sticking out of the fire, long, the tip blazing orange. Pieces started to fall into place in his mind. The same six from before were watching him, a sick pleasure across their faces. They were confident that they were cleansing their city of something that shouldn't exist.

The leader grabbed the long handle from the fire and lifted it up. Prompto hissed, realizing that his first thought had been right. The end of the metal stick was twisted into an “L” shape, leaving the tip flat instead of brunt, a molten hot line perfect for branding skin. Slowly the blond looked down, his panic overriding any sense of pain. His shirt had been ripped open, his pale skin now a mural of purple and red, faint bootprints clearly visible. But there was also one vertical long black burn across his chest just about the size of the bar. As the man stepped closer he just closed his eyes and tried to set his jaw.

Even knowing what was coming, Prompto couldn’t help but scream. The red-hot metal pressed against his chest, hissing loudly he tried to thrash away from it. Once the metal started to fade back to black the man pulled it from his chest, the metal nearly tearing the skin that it had melted too. Now the former line was joined by another, starting at the top of the previous bearn and running in a diagonal to the right.

With a haggard scream, the blond let himself sag, trapped in place by the cords around his wrists, feet and under his arms. By his count there were 5 more burns coming. As if on cue, the leader came back, pressing the metal into his skin for a third time, completing the first letter in blacked, charred skin. N.

“Why are you doing this to me?!” Prompto choked out between sobs that were slowly swallowing his screams of pain. “I didn’t do anything to you, I never hurt anybody! Please stop, please!” The fourth round of branding was placed right against his sternum, pressing not only the molten metal into his skin, but forcing his back into the board behind him, an “I” now branded to his skin. All six seemed to be taking a sick delight in his pain, looking among each other with pride instead of disgust. As the iron was pulled away from his skin he let out a heavy groan.

“Noctis! Noctis save me, please! Noct!” He screamed and thrashed, torn between closing his eyes and watching the iron heat up so he would be prepared. “Iggy! Please, save me! Help!” His screeching bounced around the abandoned ruins, fading into nothing but a voiceless echo as it traveled out of the valley.

“Someone, anyone help me! Gladio!” The boy’s voice was starting to go hoarse as he screamed, the metal pressing into him again until all Prompto could smell was burnt flesh. No matter how much he screamed, no one was coming to save him.

* * *

Ignis watched the sleeping prince, his heart torn in two. Did he wake up Noctis to the horrible news, or let him stay in a peaceful dream. His green eyes slowly dropped to the newspaper in his hands. The headline was bold across the front page, dotted with pictures so grotesque they were pixelated for distribution. But if anyone was interested the full pictures, in bright and living color, were easily found online.

The retainer slowly sat on the edge of the bed, reading over the article again as if he could force the words to change.

“Niflheim Spy? Charred body found outside the wall, NIF branded into his chest!” It read like some sensationalist tabloid. The journalist clearly didn’t care about the remains that once belonged to a soft and sensitive boy. Even though the body had been burned at the stake like some sort of historic criminal, there was enough left that one glance at the picture and he knew. Even with the picture pixeled out to hide the worst of it, Ignis knew those freckles, that form, those clothes. All he could do was pray that the boy had died quickly even though his logical mind knew that he likely suffered through almost all of it before either dying or passing out.

He couldn’t bear to awaken Noctis, not for this. He folded the paper in half, placing it on his knees as he leaned forward, the weight suffocating him. They had only been apart for an evening and yet now the prince would wake to a world without his best friend. Without the spirit and smile that could drag even Noctis out of the depths of his own sadness.

Yes, he was going to let the prince sleep a little bit longer. Hopefully it was peaceful in his dreams.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now bereft of two of his closest friends, Noctis falls into a somber depression. Ignis does his best to support the prince until Noctis's enemies set their sights on his last pillar of support: his advisor.
> 
> Whumptober 2020 entry: Numbers 22 and 25 - Poison and Disorientation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After thinking it over I decided I'm going to expand my ending into another chapter. It won't be until I recover from Whumptober panic writing but I promise to get it done.

Noctis’s apartment had never felt more lonely, more empty. The room was just too quiet, too sparse. The prince sat on his couch, alone, the television on but serving as nothing more than a flickering background to intrusive thoughts. He was curled up with his feet on the couch, his head hiding behind his knees, arms wrapped around his legs. Ignis was reminded of the little boy who had needed someone to cling to all those years ago.

But now there was nothing to ease his heart. He couldn’t wrap the prince up in blankets and read him stories of the kings from long ago to soothe his aching soul. His Shield and his best friend had been taken from him so brutally and so quickly, there was no patching the wound they left behind.

Ignis brought over a fresh cup of tea, setting it down on the end table next to Noctis’s arm. He reached out to touch the prince’s shoulder but the other pulled away in silence and so the retainer just offered a small nod. He reached back and grabbed a blanket off the couch, laying it over his prince. Right now Noctis didn’t want someone beside him, he wanted to mourn alone. And he had every right to want that. No one should have to suffer two losses back to back like that, nonetheless a boy who felt things so deeply. The advisor moved back to the kitchen, collecting half-full plates from the kitchen table to wash. It was going to be a very long night.

With a quiet sigh, he picked up the can of coffee he had set aside before trying to cook dinner. Noctis had barely eaten a bite, as expected. The prince had a broken heart and Ignis wasn’t sure how to even start picking up the pieces. For now, his own feelings had been boxed up and set aside, at least until he could sort out his charge. Since it was going to be another long night of handling duties enough for three people (ever since the ‘accident’ he had volunteered to take on Gladio's duties in regards to the Crownsguard to give the man’s father time to grieve) he downed the coffee quickly. There was a slightly bitter taste, almost metallic; he eyed the can’s manufacture date but set it down to recycle it later.

As Ignis started the dishes, the quietness of the apartment hit him like a truck, nothing but the sound of running water and the quiet drone of a television show no one was watching. There was no Gladio to yell at Noctis, to try and manually pull him out of his grief. There was no Prompto to try and cheer him up with jokes or distractions. There was just a broken prince and an advisor trying to find all the pieces.

Once the plates were clean Ignis set them aside in the drying rack, turning his attention next to the pots that he had used to cook. Before he could move on to his task, though, he leaned over the sink, resting his hands on the edge of the metal. It felt like a sudden headache was starting to pound at the back of his mind. Probably too many sleepless nights. With it, though, came an uncomfortable burn in his lungs. He brought up a hand to cover his mouth, barely muffling a wet cough that shook his body with more force than he would have expected of such a sudden onset.

“Specs?” The cocoon of sadness and blankets moved just enough for the black hair to peek out over the island that separated the living room from the kitchen.

“Just feeling a little under the weather, nothing to fuss over.” Ignis did his best to assure the now-worried boy as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He waited until the royal bundle of blankets slowly returned to his original position before turning back to the dishes. He felt like the headache was pressing at his eyes and everything was starting to spin. The advisor worried that if he let go of the sink he would topple over, now no longer entirely sure how steady he was on his feet.

Something was wrong; this wasn’t just some sudden cold or a migraine from pushing himself too hard. Every time he tried to swallow his throat felt sticky and scratchy, slowly building the need to cough. His body won out over his mind and he huddled over the sink, his body wracked with wet coughs that seemed to rattle through his empty chest. It wasn’t just a single cough this time, either, but a full fit that ended with him doubled over, clinging to the counter for purchase.

“Ignis!”  
“I am fine. It’s just...it’s just, I am a little…” His words faded as the world seemed to spin and he crashed to the floor, bringing the tray of drying plates with him. The ceramic smashed to the ground, shattering to pieces across the kitchen tile. Nocits appeared in a warp of panicked blue, grabbing his friend by his shoulders and hoisting him into a seated position. His wide eyes said everything that was frozen in his chest. He couldn't lose Ignis too.

“Iggy what’s going on, what do I do?!” The boy who was so morose he couldn’t speak only a moment ago was now only a pitch away from shrieking as he wrapped his arms around his only friend left in the world. Before the older man could speak he started to cough, Noctis holding him tightly as if that could prevent him from falling apart from the force. Once the fit finally started to ease, his advisor was heaving for breath, his hands and lips wet with blood.

“Call...can’t...breathe.” The retainer forced out words between deep, worthless gasps of air. The prince could tell that his advisor was forcing himself to stay calm even as his insides were tearing themselves apart. Noctis felt the other’s chest rise and fall in a frantic attempt at getting just a little more oxygen as if he’d run ten marathons one after another. And yet the man in his arms seemed to be fading.

He needed to get someone here, Ignis needed help. They needed help. Noctis reached back into his pocket only to realize he didn’t have his phone. It had gotten smashed to bits back at the building and he hadn’t had the fortitude to go out and get a new one just yet. Fuck. Fine, he had a phone in the apartment. Slowly he set down Ignis on his side, afraid that the man would shatter just like the broken plates. Another coughing fit started and this one was fewer coughs and more gasps between mouthfuls of blood and spit. Noctis hated to leave his side even for a moment but without help, Ignis was going to die. He warped over to the phone and snatched it off the counter fast enough for his own body to feel the whiplash. There was no sound on the other end. A dead line?

“Fuck!” In an instant he was back at his friend’s side, rubbing his back as his mind reeled from the scene in front of him. Ignis had managed to roll over onto his elbows and knees but he was still spitting up blood, his entire body trembling from the effort. His face was starting to look paler and blue and the coughs were sounding more and more like gags.

“Iggy where’s your phone. I need your phone!” He could barely make it out between the heaves and what sounded like dry sobs, but Ignis was shaking his head. Why?! They needed help now!

“Fine, I’m going to get help!” The prince stood up and almost warped out of the room but stopped, his heart twisting out of his chest. He heard a quiet, choked sound, unsteady and weak.

“Don’t go.” Noctis let himself fall to his knees, wrapping his arms around Ignis’s chest and burying his head against the back of the dying man’s neck. The coughing slowed, the heaves faded into quiet rasping. Slowly he turned over his friend in his arms, swallowing back his own tears. Ignis was pale and his lips were faintly blue. He had lost his glasses somewhere along the way and there was blood all down his mouth and neck.

“Noct…” Slowly Ignis reached up, his hand tracing up Noctis’s face before tangling in the black above him. His hand was streaking blood in the prince’s hair but the prince didn’t care. Instead, he leaned in close, watching the green eyes on him, fuzzy and unfocused. Ignis’s voice was so quiet like he was forcing out words with the only air left in his lungs.

“I must...beg for your forgiveness...”

“Iggy, don’t talk, it’s okay. You’re gonna be okay.” His own blue eyes were starting to cloud with tears as he leaned down until their foreheads were touching. Ignis’s skin was almost cold to the touch.

“I wanted to be...by your side until the end. Noct I...” The body in his arms suddenly slumped, his hand ghosting touches against the prince’s cheek before it landed limply between them.

“Iggy? Specs? Ignis! Ignis!” Even as he screamed his retainer made no movement, now just a pale specter of what he had been mere moments ago. In only a few minutes his last lifeline had been completely severed. For the first time, he could remember he felt completely and utterly alone. Since before he could remember Ignis had always been there. By his side, sometimes mothering him, sometimes being a friend, and sometimes just being a silent shadow, a reminder that no matter what he was never alone. But now he was. 


End file.
